Born to Die
by Nonsensicality
Summary: In a futuristic Albion, the cycle of the Arthurian legend has begun again; the lives of Arthur and Merlin have once again collided in a passionate opposition. Born to die, our two heroes battle their destinies and fight do what their previous lives could not. Survive. Warning: Suggestion, violence, gore, dark themes and homosexuality
1. Introduction

Disclaimer: I do not, though I wish I did, own anything related to BBC's Merlin

Summary: In a futuristic Albion, the cycle of the Arthurian legend has begun again; the lives of Arthur and Merlin have once again collided in a passionate opposition. Born to die, our two heroes battle their destinies and fight do what their previous lives could not. Survive.

Inspiration: A saw photo where a fan took Collin Morgan's screenshot from his Doctor Who episode and put Arthur, in some hot red-leather coat, wielding a gun, together with a city background. That coupled with some scifi love from the channel Syfy, I thought up a futuristic fic for our two heroes.

Warning: Suggestion, violence, gore, dark themes and homosexuality

Pairing: Arthur and Merlin

**Note: Page breaks signal a change in P.O.V. though they're all third person.**

* * *

**Born to Die**

**By N**o**n**s**e**n**si**c**a**l**i**t**y**

* * *

Though no man

No matter how great

Can know his destiny

Some lives have been foretold

_-The Great Dragon_

* * *

For thousands of years, the same prophecy has come to rest upon the shoulders of the damned. For thousands of years it has been a repeat of misery and defeat, climaxing in glorious sacrifice each and every time as foretold. It has no end.

There is no mercy, there is no hope for salvation. It is a spiral; a never ending pattern always resulting in the same, bloody end. Arthur is born to die and Merlin is cursed to watch, yet helpless to stop it. That is their forever destiny, repeating itself thousands of times throughout the ages.

There is no escape.

However, as a spiral suggests, events will eventually and inevitably branch out, hence the term spiral rather than circle. This is the only possibility that stands in contrast to the grim fate of those prophesized. It's not much, but circumstances as horrid as these need very little to spark hope.

Now finally, after thousands and thousands of years of the same pain and ruin, there is a chance for a different outcome. A break in the pattern. A breach from the spiral, resulting in something - though not perfect – different.

Even the slightest difference in something as tightly bound as this, could have monumental effects…

* * *

It was night in the city of Albion.

All was quiet and all was still. Though the illusion of peace in the quiet was just that: a ruse. War was coming, it approached in the form of a small platoon of soldiers and a shipment of illegal property.

The smog of burning industrial factories clouded the sky and tinted the half-moon a light shade of red. The chill of the wintry winds intensified with the setting of the sun and the temperature that once turned a nose pink now made lips blue. Packs of unchecked animals roamed freely in search of fresh meat, and pockets of criminal activity stalked the shadows.

It was a vicious night in the city of Albion.

Even the worthless law keepers, those charged to defend against injustice, knew to hide away when the night set in. So as it did every night, the city – a scramble of closely packed buildings, ruined foundations, twisting alleyways, and unchecked crime – entered into another dangerous night.

Rightly so, the streets were abandoned, the lights were darkened inside homes and doors were bolted shut. No good citizen dared venture into the darkness of Albion's evening. It was suicide and that was common knowledge.

Life in the city was a constant fight for survival, brutal and most times unfair to the innocent. Albion was a place of poverty and tyranny. Two forces of immense power, those know by the people as Crips and Korts, reigned supreme in the position of authority. There was no one greater than them and no one too lowly for them. They ruled Albion unchallenged and unrestrained. Their authority was absolute and final, the motions of a working government was simply a puppet show. The strings were pulled by the Crips and Korts.

Albion was _their_ city.

During the day, the civil war between these two powers was more covert and the killings were more discrete, but definitely present. Discrete enough for common people to live their lives without hesitation – though trepidation. Armed men stalked the streets and managed the running world, Korts; stealthy resistance battled this internally and brazenly: Crips.

During the night however, when the sun had set and the silence set in, it was a different story _completely_. Life was put on hold. The city became a battleground under constant violence and the innocents became simple casualties. Crips ran wild, Korts retaliated as best they could, but there were no laws. There were no limitations. It was a city of crime and tyranny and it festered in the night.

As was the way in Albion, as it had been since before the time of kings. It was a cycle, never-ending.

However, one young Kortier solider, a Captain of a noteworthy platoon, fought to end that cycle. One very important night in Albion, one vicious and quiet night, the Kortier youth sowed the seeds for the destruction of the Arthurian cycle. And he did it without even knowing.

"Captain, they're on their way," a low voice hissed in the darkness of an abandoned building, lowering a pair of spectacles from his eyes. Beside him, his superior was crouched to peek over the crumbling structure of a window, careful to keep his head low.

"Good," the young man whispered back, trusting his subordinate's eyes in the darkness he could not penetrate. There was no warning on danger to the untrained eyes, but ff he strained his ears, he could almost hear the sound of tires crunching over the broken cobblestone two stories down. "How far?"

"Less than twenty meters," the scout reported, squinting hard. "They have the shipment with them," he confirmed, "Stripped car frame, four escorts and two gunmen."

"Is Emrys with them?"

"No Sir."

The Captain, shrouded in shadows and a black cloak, grinned. "Even better. Signal the others and get into position." As the Captain, invigorated and anxious, quietly made his way down the empty corridor he and his subordinate occupied, the scout removed a flashlight from his pack.

Cupping the front so that his targets didn't see, he stuck his hands out the window he guarded and flashed a light sharply to the left, reflecting it off a stray metal sheet he'd placed out earlier. The sheet, set atop an empty building and dangled freely in the night, caught the beam and reflected it casually across the street. The scout retreated back inside and watched the sheet for a response from his comrades, all the while he readied himself and snapped a fresh magnum into his hand gun.

"Are they ready?" The Captain whispered down the hall as he loaded his own weapon.

The scout did not reply for a long moment, beginning to worry, then there was a reflection of two, timed flashes on the metal sheet. He laughed despite himself, "That they are, Sir," he reported back.

"Alright," the young Kortier commander loaded his rifle with his modified ammo and armed himself with a small trigger device, supporting his back against the broken wall of the hallway. "On my mark."

* * *

Within the shadows of a distant rooftop, crouched low and dressed in black, a young woman lied in hiding. She was thin and sleek, elegant even, so much so that her appearance went unnoticed by her prey. She watched less than patiently as the battle of her own doing played out before her eyes.

"This is pathetic."

"Patience."

"I have none." Her friends and comrades were in the line of fire, there were the fuse waiting for the match. The tension grated against her sanity; her enemies made themselves ready and finished their preparations. She saw all, and yet was obviously displeased.

"How does this not bother you?" she whispered in the night, doing her best to contain herself.

Her partner, a young male in close proximity to her age of eighteen years and her direct superior, was crouched beside her in opposite disposition. The two of them were settled in a good ways off from a fight they together planned, from start to finish. Their fellow Crips waited, five stories below and many meters off, for the Kortiers to make their move.

He and she were both nothing more than shadows in the night as he watched their forces play their parts perfectly. Unlike her though, he was amused; there was even a soft smile on his lips. Consequently, he did not answer his troubled friend's question.

So she continued quietly at his silence, "They're too easy. It's almost disgraceful they think we'd be so easily found out." She waited, but once again her male companion did not comment. He knew better. When after a long moment her statement was not responded to, she couldn't help but ask, "How can they be so foolish?"

The venom in her voice was unmistakable, and her superior took note of this before carefully replying. "…They believe what they want to, Morgana," he explained slowly, as if handling an explosive, still looking on with a hint of excitement. "Besides, he's eager to make his mark in this war," he added, in obvious reference to the notorious Kortier Captain.

While Morgana glowered, he admired. Lucky for him, she did not notice. She simply shook her head, her golden eyes narrowing in on the building window where he thought he was out of sight, "_He's_ pathetic."

"Come now," her friend scolded playfully, knocking her gently with a jab from his elbow, "Don't be so quick to judge. He's just ignorant."

The female, Morgana, turned on him in wide-eyed incredulity, gasping, "You'd _defend_ him?" She almost spit the words, as if they put a fowl taste in her mouth. Her accusation didn't lose any of its bite though.

Carefully, the Crip assessed the situation and paused, examining the hurt evident in her gold irises. "I'd give him a chance," he amended gently, smoothing out his voice, "He might _not_ be what we think."

"We believe what we want to believe," she retorted in a hiss, still furious.

"Ouch," he clasped a hand over his heart, mocking pain at her sharp words.

Frustratedly, she spun back around to glare daggers at the young Captain, her dark hair spinning with her she moved with such force. She watched the Kortier soldier for a long moment, noticing as he prepared to trigger the bomb she'd already located. Her anger intensified at the smile plastered on his face. "_I _will not be so easily fooled," she vowed, "I know him for who he really is. He's a monster."

"He was raised by one, that doesn't mean _he's_ one, Morgana," her friend offered almost meekly, he was well aware of her deep-rooted hatred for the thugs known as Kortiers. "He's just ignorant," he repeated.

"Just, _just_?!" With a heavy sigh, Morgana dropped her head, closing her eyes in disgust, "Honestly Emrys, what is it with you?"

Emrys just smiled at her though, as she raised her hand to press the communicator on her throat, "Get ready," she advised the men. She looked up at her superior doubtfully. "They'll be fine," Morgana said, assuring herself more than him.

"I'm sure they will be," Emrys agreed.

Before anything else could be said though, there was an eruption of light and fire across from them and they looked over curiously. The bomb, which Morgana's most elite had located earlier, was blown and the blast rushed out over the surrounding city, crashing into the two Crips hidden on the distant rooftop.

Despite having anticipated and braced themselves as best they could, they were both knocked back by the force. Hair askew and breath stolen, Morgana was instantly disgusted and showed it in a snarl, but her commanding officer, Emrys fell onto his back and outright laughed.

They composed themselves and pressed low to the roof, lying on their stomached and shielding themselves against the light of the flames with their dark coats.

"He's still pathetic." She mumbled.

Emrys just looked to her in amusement, then back to the Captain of the Kortiers as he called out orders to his men and began to fire on his victims. Emrys smiled, almost laughing were it not for his angry friend beside him.

"I'm not so sure…" he mused, letting his gaze linger on the handsome youth.

* * *

"Sir, nothing's hitting them."

Back on the battlefield, taking heavy fire from the now agitated Crip rebels, the Captain and his scout fought to maintain their field of advantage. From above the battlefield, in the suspended corridor of old stone, the two killed from above, taking the bulk of enemy fire. The explosion they'd set off initally had weakened the already crumbling structure and chunks of loose ceiling sprinkled around them both.

Simultaneously, Elyan and his commanding officer ducked out of the line of fire and hurried to reload their weapons. Elyan took the time to convey his opinion, "Sir, we're wasting time and ammunition. They're just deflecting it all."

The Captain, well aware of the abilities of the ever-evil Crips, nodded. "At this distance it's a shot in a million that one bullet makes it past their defenses. They simply throw up a barrier and we might as well be shooting at a brick wall." He snapped his new mag into place and peeked over the ledge of the windowsill. He could see the Crips preparing for the next onslaught.

"We need to take it to them." He finished.

"Sir?"

"Get down there," the Captain ordered. "I'll cover you."

As the scout began respond to the order he'd been given, a blast of gold exploded beside him, and flames burst forth. He tumbled onto his chest, cursing as the heat scorched his skin; even his commander felt the blast of warm sizzle through his armor. Leaving no time for either of them had time to react though, the gold matter the proceeded to crawl up the walls and roof in golden veins of light. "Elyan, eight o'clock!" With a viscous pop, the veins imploded and the corridor broke open, sending Elyan through the floor!

"_Elyan_!" the cry tore from the commander's throat, leaving it burning as he shielded himself from the debris that flew his way.

The Captain, now alone in the ruined hallway, looked on in suspended shock. The place where his friend and comrade had been, glowed with remnants of golden matter and smoke. But his friend was gone, the crunch of his body hitting the ground moments later seemed to deafen him, and his blood went cold.

Without thinking, he let his anger control him and he rose to fire expertly out his window, aiming at the four Crip escorts hauling the broken car frame they carried their shipment on.

One of the men, with his head down and his body aglow, as he pulled the car like a mule, fell dead. It was a lucky shot and the commander knew it, but it didn't stop him from whooping wildly. The other Crip mules then forsook their shipment and raised their sheathed weapon to begin to return fire. The lone Kortier ducked low, taking the moment to press the com strapped to his neck, he tried desperately for his friend, but didn't dare to hope. "Elyan, report."

For a long moment there was no answer, only static, and the Kortier commander began to worry as he dodged bullets. One pinged off his shoulder plate and he cursed lowly as the pain vibrated through his arm and collar. "Elyan? Come on man," he tried again, louder this time, "Report!"

"Shut up," a raspy voice chocked out. The Captain let out a breath. "I can hear you, for gods' sake."

"Report then, man."

"I'm good, but could use some cover."

More than slightly relieved, the commander laughed and asked, "Yeah, yeah. Where are you?"

"In some shop on the left side of the street, Ferris Buller's emporium." With a slight alteration to his headset and roll to the right to avoid being shot, the Captain proceeded to com is remaining troops below. "Leon, come in."

"Captain." Leon spoke into his ear, his voice breaking through the static and explosions.

"Elyan needs cover," a storm of bullets bore in through the window just above the Captain's head. He sucked in a breath and pressed flat to the ground, hissing out, "Get over to Buller's, now."

There's was long, unsettling pause before Leon replied, "No can do, Sir. We're pinned down."

There was a break in Crip fire and in a flash of rage, the Kortier leader leapt to his feet and fired briefly at the reloading Crips. They just deflected the bullets and shot back with expert marksmanship once armed. The Captain sunk back down and reopened the link between him and his man Leon, "What do you mean pinned down? Pinned down how?"

"Pinned down as in they've got a Brute, Sir! We're taking heavy damage."

Growling, Arthur retreated from the window and began to move carefully down the hallway. He pressed the button on his throat to ask, "A Brute on a shipment run? You're sure?"

"Positive. Perc's going at him as we speak, Captain, we can get to Elyan but not with it bearing down on us."

Arthur, dodging a bullet that ricocheted off the metal of a windowsill further ahead of him, peeked out at the now fire-lit battlefield, spying the grocery store in which his men were bunkered in. At the broken glass of the shop, a tall and looming figure the Captain knew to be his man Percival fired mercilessly at another looming figure towering in the street.

A Brute. One of the Crip hard-hitters and a force to be reckoned with. Nothing but muscle and energy, currently zeroed in on the collection of Kortier soldiers firing at it. They weren't prepared for such a dangerous Crip to attend the shipment run, and a knot formed in the Captain's gut. He knew what he had to do.

"Right," the Captain nodded, having assessed the situation to be dire, "Tell Percival to hold fire and get yourselves out of there, I'm on my way!"

"But Arthur—"

"Now Leon!" The Captain bellowed into his mic. He jumped up and turned to sprint to the end of the hall where Elyan had fallen, just barely missing the bullets aimed at him. He slide to a stop and dropped to his knees before the hole in the floor, tearing off his cloak to free his Kortier uniform and discarding his gun. With a snap of his fingers, the mechs in his glove sent a signal to the core of Arthur's suit and a jolt ran up his body from his toes to his shoulders. With a sharp inhale, he then jumped from the hallway, plummeting down two stories worth of freefall before crashing into the ground!

* * *

On the roof in the distance, Morgana tensed and put her hands over her ears, straining to hear her comrades shouting over their coms. Emrys noticed only slightly. There was a long silence before she said anything, and by time she did her heart had quickened and her blood pumped.

"Emrys, Arthur has entered the battlefield." The hatred in her voice transparent, "He's after Marcus," Morgana reported, breathless at the turn of events. She moved her gaze, which has been locked on the ground, to the field of battle where she could see the work of her troops failing, "Emrys, he's advancing. Felix is asking for permission to engage." There was a hint of panic in her voice, for her friends and the success of her mission. So turned to her commander, looking to him for confirmation, but he wasn't listening.

Emrys, with his gaze fixated on the brave and dangerous Kortier commander, did not respond to his lieutenant. Instead, he marveled at the speed and skill with which the commander moved with, his own adrenaline picking up in consequence. "Beautiful," he whispered, too low for her to hear.

"Commander?"

Still Emrys looked on silently, lost in the moment and caught up in the grace of the young Kortier. His eyes even flickered from blue to gold as the excitement gathered up inside him; pebbles around him lifted off the ground slightly.

"Merlin!" Morgana pleaded, finally gaining his attention. The pebbles fell silently and the gold vanished, leaving confused irises of crystalline blue to fall on Morgana's gold. She let out a breath in desperation, her eyes wide and anxious as she repeated, "Do they have permission to engage?"

Her superior shook his head wordlessly, looking from her to the Captain. He moved in slow motion in his eyes, the enhancements in his vision allowing him to see Arthur clearly even at the great distance and poor lighting. He was stunning.

Then he looked back to Morgana, she laid out her fear for him to see and pleaded with him openly. "Well?"

But Emrys shook his head. "No. They do not. Felix is not to engage, he knows the plan. We stick to it." He turned his focus to the battlefield.

Morgana gagged on her own air supply, chocking it out in gasps, "But… Merlin—"

His head snapped back and his eyes gleamed with golden power, reacting to his temper. Morgana stopped herself short. "We will not deviate from our mission, Morgana," he commanded, letting the authority of his position come out thick in his deep voice, "We will not risk the chance of exposing ourselves and endangering Mordred's team. Felix is _not_ to engage and Arthur is to be left unaware of our actions."

There was a long moment the beautiful female stared into the eyes of her long-time friend, torn between duty and selfish desire with the internal struggle clear in her liquid gold eyes. Merlin watched her struggle and the gold faded from his irises; he reached out to her sympathetically, placing a hand on her shoulder. There was a brief second in which he feared her betrayal, but before the thought had time to manifest, she sucked in a breath and steeled herself.

Her eyes hardened and her wits returned to her. Morgana then spoke into her communicator, saying, "Permission denied. Do not engage, repeat, do not engage Pendragon."

With their eyes still locked, Merlin could hear his man in respond in Morgana's ear. Her gaze narrowed in on him, her usual hatred for authority and Kortiers retuning; Merlin smiled. She hissed, "I hope you're sure about this, Emrys."

Merlin just nodded slowly, squeezing the hand on her shoulder; she was still composed enough that she let him. "I'm sure, Morgana. This isn't my first mouse trap." His hand fell and they both focused on their spectating, allowing their biochemical advancements to increase their vision.

"You've never trapped a dragon, though," she whispered, once again on good terms with her friend and commander. She added, "Bit more spunk than a mouse."

Merlin smiled at the pleasantries, whispering back, "A trap is a trap, Morgana. The only difference between the victims is the bait they're given." Merlin allowed himself a quiet chuckle at his own success. "Spree a criminal, you'll get a mouse, plant false information you get a dragon."

Morgana just shook her head, sighing heavily against the stone roof she lied on, "I just hope we can pull this off."

"Have faith, I'm sure Mordred is already waiting for you at home."

Morgana scoffed to hide the smile that forced upon her lips.

* * *

"Fall back, fall back!" a rugged voice screamed out over the clamor of death and explosions, "Retreat!" The nearby Crips obeyed without hesitation, dropping their weapons and fleeing the scene, but others lingered and laid down fire on the Kortier soldiers.

"Arthur!" One soldier shouted, the tall and blonde Leon, concerned for his commander as he approached the preoccupied Brute. He paused when his comrades did not and watched his superior from outside the shop Elyan was holed up in.

The young Captain spied his man Leon, and grinned. Arthur was already exceptionally positioned in the middle of the battlefield, tucked behind a building for protection and unaffected by the explosions going off around as he shouted back, "Get to Elyan. Go!" He removed a small handgun from his hip and turned to lean out from around the building he was press against, firing at a charging Crip.

The body crumbled to the ground instantly. Arthur then retreated back behind the building and saw Leon still staring after him. He spoke into his com to his subordinate, the authority in his voice more potent that way, "Now Leon."

Leon's comrades, three in total, were already in Buller's, assisting their injured friend. One of them, the Kortier Percival, commed his commander, "Sir, we've got Elyan. He'll be fine."

Leon had heard this as well as Arthur, who nodded to him before he turned and ran to join them. "Leon's on his way," Arthur informed them, "Once Elyan is secured, circle around and flank the shipment. I'll handle the Brute. Radio silence from here."

"Sir, are you sure?"

Arthur looked up at the cold night sky, his breath forming into vapor before him. He took a deep breath that chilled his insides and scored his lungs. "Nope," he admitted before he sprinted down the alley to his right and tuned hard left to enter the back of the grocery.

The backdoor was blasted open and left swinging, he easily slipped inside. He was in the back room of the grocery, surrounded by darkness enhanced by the time of night. There was then the crunch of food being squashed and Arthur jumped; he saw the figure of the hulk-like Brute searching the front room of the store for Kortier survivors.

Arthur panicked, his weapon emptied and vision poor, so dove. The Brute, large and stomping around the broken building, entered the back room without noticing Arthur dive behind a counter or hearing him settled in and reload his handgun.

Heart pounding and adrenaline racing, the Captain braced himself in a dark corner behind the counter, careful to pull all his limbs in close. As he fumbled with the individual bullets from his belt and slid them quietly into the barrel of his weapon, his com buzzed to life. "Sir," Leon whispered in Arthur's ear against orders, causing him to jump. The Captain hissed and put a hand to his ear, straining to hear the whisper. "That Brute favors its right leg, but it's supped up on Booster, so watch yourself." As he said this, Arthur noticed the faint glow of gold on the far wall, emanating from the Brute around the corner. He also heard the sound of the Brutes off-times footsteps, suggesting he was favoring one. "It downed three vials before we opened fire."

"Noted," Arthur whispered back, earning a startled grunt from the Brute. Arthur tensed and slunk as far back into the corner as he could, slipping into the hole under the countertop that lead into the wall a few feet.

"He also seems to have heightened hearing," Leon added before switching to radio silence. Arthur simply rolled his eyes as the heavy footsteps of the approaching Crip neared his hiding place.

The Brute passed by Arthur's line of sight, and said teen sucked in a gasp. It was definitely a formidable opponent, at least twice his size and trembling with power, shirt hanging off its torso in shreds to reveal its protruding muscles.

The Kort brought his gun low to the floor to try and muffle the sound as much as possible as he cocked his weapon. It was pointless though, the moment a sound was made, the Brute spun around with a bull-like growl and eyed the tiny commander.

Arthur laughed, and without thinking, waved.

It only served to enrage the rebel though. With a monstrous howl, the Brute launched forward, charging the Commander's hidey-hole. With a shout and a few unintelligent curse words, Arthur quickly rolled out of his hole in the wall and leapt over the counter, just barely escaping the massive hand that shot out for him.

"Leon," he screamed into his com, running wildly through the grocery store, "Tell me you've got those Crips taken care of!"

"Arthur? What's wrong, why are breaking radio silence?"

"Just tell me they're taken care of, man!" he repeated, his voice breaking from the effort he poured into his voice, being flung forward as a golden blast of energy exploded directly behind him! He glanced over his shoulder to see the hulk chasing after him like an enrage bull. The young Captain turned and fired two shots from his weapon as he rounded the corner sharply, entering the front of the shop. Before he completely escaped the backroom though, he caught sight of the bullets that were easily flicked away by the back of the Brute's massive, glowing hand.

They fell to the cobblestone.

"Leon!" Arthur shrieked femininely, bounding over a collection of food-filled crates, "_Are_ they taken care of?!"

"Yes Sir, we're finishing off the last of them. Do you need back up?"

Arthur didn't answer though, he took Leon's response as an all clear and jumped through broken window of the store, flying into the street and rolling clumsily across the ground. Bullets came his way from the startled Crips before Arthur's Kortier soldiers drew the Crip's attention away from him.

"We'll keep them busy, Arthur," Leon assured his commander as he got to his feet. Before he was stable though, the Brute burst out the shop, too big for the window, so he came through the brick wall.

Arthur paled.

He quickly sheathed his handgun, proved useless against the golden barrier of the Crip rebel, and shifted his stance. He hunched low to the ground and instead pulled out a long blade from the inside of his boot. "I prefer this anyways," he admitted quietly, pressing the jagged blade to the back of his raised hand - the knife was his preferred weapon. The metal gleamed in the raging flames of the nearby fires, much like the Captain's eyes. Anticipation and excitement danced both in the fire and the depths of his crystalline irises.

The tremendous Crip trembled like a furious animal, examining the threat Arthur presented.

"Well I don't have all night, "Arthur baited. Its beady eyes narrowed in on him. It was like he lit a match to the metaphorical stick of dynamite that was the situation.

It all happened in a flash; the Hulk of a man charged the soldier with a monstrous howl, resembling a bull as he rushed forward. The soldier easily and gracefully stepped aside, spinning as he did so that as the Brute passed, he could slash out at him.

Blood flew from the large creature's back, and the it bellowed in rage as a confirmation of a blow. Before Arthur was back on his two feet though, the Brute turned back around and threw an arm out. The limb hit the Kortier Captain square in the chest, knocking out any remaining breath in his lungs, and sending him flying towards a building.

He crashed into the brick wall, and crumbled to the ground. He was on his feet as quick as he could manage, but in the time it took the Kort to recover from the pain that shot throughout his body, The Crip had rushed over and grabbed a hold of him! Arthur gasped for air as it instantly flew from his lungs and was then pulled in to a death grip of dangerous strength. He was wrenched off the ground and brought in tight to the monster's chest, effectively cutting off his airways.

Arthur scrambled to hold something and settled for the Brute's forearm and he choked to death.

"Arthur!" one of the Kortier men shouted in fear, noticing the Crip killing his commander. The Brute was momentarily distracted by the sound, looking over to spy the collection of Kortier soldiers in Buller's shop across the street.

Arthur was turning purple though, gasping as the life was squeezed out from him. In the brief instant the Brute was distracted, the Captain brought up his blade and sliced at the exposed forearm. He was merciless, digging in deep and tearing flesh desperately. The Hulk roared like a beast and squeezed tighter in protest to the pain, so the soldier continued to hack away for dear life, spewing blood and muscle everywhere!

Suddenly, Arthur was released, the Brute unable to take the pain. He fell to the ground and gasped like a fish out of water, unable to even think straight due to air deprivation. While the Brute screamed over his wounds, the Kortier Captain slowly scrambled away, crawling on all fours as the world spun around him.

He was frantic to find a more powerful weapon as his opponent regained himself, unable to respond to his men screaming into his com. Nearby and lying on the ground, where the disorientated Captain could see in his dazed state, was a broken street lamp, blown in half by the explosion and left jagged on both ends.

The Captain armed himself with it as best he could, and struggled to his feet as his now composed opponent roared in anger.

Arthur turned to face it as it was once again charged him with its head down and body glowing gold with magic. The Kotier warrior, with little training in fending off raging madmen, aimed his weapon in front of him like a lance and braced for impact as best he could.

As he suspected though, when the Brute threw itself into the metal shaft, it did not penetrate him. The gold barrier took the blow, grinding against the metal in fiery sparks as the invincible Hulk continued to charge forward. Arthur's arms locked the blade to his side and tried to root himself. The momentum was too much though, and it drove the Captain backwards along with the Brute! Before he had time to free himself, Arthur was pinned between the Brute and the ruined side of another building, effectively trapped.

"Arthur!"

Once again, a pressure was placed against Arthur's windpipe, this time far more direct though! The Captain dropped his weapon to try and claw at the giant grip that encased his throat, but it was no use. The hand wouldn't give despite Arthur's attempts. Between the golden energy surging through the Brute and the solid bricks being ground into his back, Arthur was helpless.

The Captain gasped desperately, grasping at the world around him as he slowly slipped into lethal unconsciousness. He kicked and thrashed, but the elbow of the Crip locked and there was no breaking free. The Brute watched the dying Captain with a sick smile. As Arthur struggled, trying to gorge the Brute's eyes out, the monster bashed his victim into the brick wall repeatedly.

Black and blue filled Arthur's vision, knocking him into dark and bright places of beautiful numbness between the pain. The fight was effectively beaten out of him within moments, blood trickling out from the corner of the Kortier's mouth as his lips and cheeks broke with the force. His fingers twitched wildly but eventually fell away, too drained. His eyes rolled up towards the starry sky and the last ounces of life began to slip away...

The Brute, satisfied and ready for the end, raised his fist for a final blow when—

There was a blast of heat and light from somewhere behind the two of them as a nearby explosion erupted.

It wasn't a powerful bomb, but it was enough to shatter the glass of the nearby buildings and shake the stone foundations of the world store Arthur was being killed against. The tremors shook both the Brute and Captain violently, and the metal bits of shrapnel ricocheted off the golden barrier.

The Brute stumbled from the force and in its negligence Arthur was freed.

He hit the ground roughly, his ears failed him and his eyesight blurred, but he was sentient enough to see his opponent become vulnerable. His com vibrated with the strength screams in his ear, but he was too far gone to hear anything. His body screamed in protest of movement, but Arthur slowly rose to his feet.

Shaky and weakened, the seasoned Kortier warrior took the opportunity to retrieve the weapon lying in wait on the ground. With a surge of energy from someplace unknown to the beaten Arthur, he bounded off the building he'd been previously throttled against! He hurled himself through the air to landed on the chest of the broad Brute roughly, driving his blade into it solid mass of muscle and flesh.

They both fell unto the cobblestone, the extra momentum driving the broken shaft even deeper into the Crip's chest. "Ha!" Arthur whooped victoriously, as he felt the crunch of the metal piercing bone.

He threw up his hands and gasps for the air his lungs were _screaming_ for! His success was short lived though, cut short by the Hulk as he backhanded the distracted Arthur across the face and sent him flying to the left!

* * *

"Morgana!" Merlin bellowed, gripping the edge of the roof with whitened knuckles. He was desperate, watching the scene play out before him like a nightmare. Morgana was shouting beside him, screaming orders of a cease fire into her headset, but Merlin watched and saw no change on the battlefield.

Instead, he saw the object of his attention being viciously assaulted by a Brute of his command. He watched as the man known as Marcus wrenched a metal pole form his chest and threw it carelessly to the side. He then proceeded to grab the Kortier he'd been strangling to death moments before and toss him about the street. Arthur was fighting valiantly, but Merlin knew he was idiotic for taking on an opponent of that caliber on his own.

Merlin looked to Morgana but she just met his gaze evenly, accepting the facts with a cold glare. Her com mumbled with a solid consistency, Merlin waited for the debrief. "Felix can't reach him," she reported. "He's completely off the reservation." The roar of their berserk subordinate drew their attention to the street further down the block.

With their eyes locked firmly on the dying Pendragon, Merlin asked, "What's got into him?"

Morgana didn't look away from the fight, disappointment for her maddened trooper making her voice flat, "Felix says Marcus disobeyed your order to disengage, right before he took some Booster he swiped from the shipment."

Merlin brought down a fist against the roof, breaking through the stone with the force of the blow. Morgana took a deep breath as he asked, "How many?"

"Three," she answered solemnly. They both knew what that meant, but only Morgana dared say it aloud, "Merlin, he's gone completely mental. Felix tried to restrain him, but he nearly tore his arm off. He needs to be taken care of before he blows the _whole_ operation."

Merlin just grimaced at the faint sound of Arthur being thrown into another building, his back snapping and his bones threatening to break under the pressure.

"Order a retreat, we can't help him." Morgana suggested, Merlin knew she was right. She always was, that's why she was his only lieutenant.

He paused though. Merlin watched for just a few seconds more as Arthur fought the oncoming defeat Marcus was delivering. Morgana didn't bother him, partly because she enjoyed the sight, but she also sensed Merlin's favoritism for the Kortier Captain, so said nothing. Instead, she watched Merlin, watch him.

His blue eyes showed slivers of gold and his white knuckled turned white as snow, until it looked downright painful. With a final sigh, Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his right temple, "Order the retreat, make sure it looks authentic. Leave Marcus, he's on his own now…"

"Sir," Morgana nodded, before turning her back on her superior and rushing out commands into his communicator. Merlin let her be as she did. He was too busy watching his Crip soldier disobey a direct order and attack the one person he commanded was to never be confronted.

Arthur Pendragon, the one and only. Completely off limits and being thrown about like a rag doll. Merlin seethed and came to the only conclusion he could; disobedience would not be tolerated. Nor would he endanger everyone in his command with the reckless actions of one. Reaching out his hand slightly, he extended a opened palm in the general direction of the battlefield.

"Forgive me," he whispered lowly.

He shut his eyes and dropped his head. The building beneath him began to tremble softly and the pebbles once again floated into the air, this time higher, catching Morgana's attention. She looked over her shoulder with a quiet gasp and eyes slightly widened. Merlin leaned forward and pressed his lips tightly, working to steel himself as he focused on Marcus.

She was speechless, looking from her commander's hand to Marcus, in grim agreement yet still shocked. Her eyes flickered down…

Mumbling words of a different tongue and opening his eyes. With a flash of blazing gold in his pale blue eyes and a ripple of pure energy washing over the rooftop, an invisible current of sharp, freezing air burst forth from Merlin's smooth palm, shoving him back and tearing through the night!

* * *

Arthur stumbled to the ground, his knees finally giving out. He collapsed in a tired, panting heap. His mean shouted to him over the coms, but they were preoccupied with the other Crip forces. His ears pounded with the blood in his head and his body burned with exhaustion and pain.

He was grasping at the end of his rope and he knew it. So, bravely, Arthur swallowed heavily and took in a deep breath, facing fact.

The Brute squared itself in front of him, laughing darkly.

"Goodbye," it ground out in a deep, menacing tone. With a howl and burning gold eyes, he raised his glowing fists and began to deliver Arthur his—

There was a vile crack and a spray of warm blood! The right leg of the towering Crip has been sliced through, revealing clean cut muscle and bone! It took a moment for reality to set in, both for the Crip and Arthur. They stared at the leg in suspended shock, unsure of what really just happened but unable to comprehend the effects.

Finally, Arthur let out a breath of relief, curiously looking to his right for a sign of whomever had saved him. But he men were still pinned down, firing on the other Crip forces, and the street remained empty until it dead ended. Arthur's brow creased.

In a bloodcurdling shriek, the Brute realized its situation and then fell to the ground, grabbing frantically at the gushing limb. The bottom half of his right calf was completely severed from his body and rolling away on the cobblestone beside him.

Arthur composed himself and wasted no time.

The Brute's barrier was down in the chaos, and the creature was immobilized, lost in hellish pain. Arthur pulled his handgun from his hip and without a second though, unloaded the remainder of his ammo into the Brutes vulnerable face.

* * *

Chapter one! Again.

For those of you who are confused, this is my second posting of this chapter. I came to the conclusion that the first was a poor execution of the fantasy that' been haunting my every thought so I tried again, implementing massive changes to the chapter. This go 'round I am far more pleased.

(Also the reference to Ferris Buller was just some fun on my part)

I realize this chapter is vague concerning the overall layout of the land and setting – that is my intention for the chapter – because the focus was the introduction of my two main characters through their actions. Chapter two will be on its way soon and there will be more character to it; I have this huge and epic storyline thought out and now I have to pace myself.

Anyone get my acronym? Knight Of Round Table: Kort? It was a long shot, I know. And Crips is a weak title, but I don't much care.

If you don't mind, leave me a review: tell me what you liked or what you didn't and I can better myself as a writer. Thanks a bunch!

-Nonsensicality


	2. Dragon's Bait

Disclaimer: I still have no rights to anything that is Merlin BBC

In a futuristic Albion, the cycle of the Arthurian legend has begun again; the lives of Arthur and Merlin have once again collided in a passionate opposition. Born to die, our two heroes battle their destinies and fight do what their previous lives could not. Survive.

Inspiration: A saw photo where a fan took Collin Morgan's screenshot from his Doctor Who episode and put Arthur, in some hot red-leather coat, wielding a gun, together with a city background. That coupled with some scifi love from the channel Syfy, I thought up a futuristic fic for our two heroes.

Warning: Suggestion, violence, gore, dark themes and homosexuality and character death

Pairing: Merthur

**Note: This is my first Merlin Fic so I appreciate constructive criticism, not so much destructive**

* * *

**Born to Die**

**By ****N**o**n**s**e**n**si**c**a**l**i**t**y**

* * *

_And in the middle of the night_

_I may watch you go_

_They'll be no value in the strength_

_Of the walls that I have grown_

_They'll be no comfort in the shade_

_Of the shadows thrown_

-Mumford and Sons

* * *

Arthur rose slowly from his kill, body tensed and heaving with shuddering breaths. His senses were narrowed dangerously, focusing only on the moment, as the world seemed to move in slow motion around him. His men, the Crips, the fires, the explosions, even the blood, all moved slowly around him. His eyes fought to take in all they could.

He glanced around himself briefly, just enough to realize the battle was all but over. Men faded, action became for frantic and bodies no longer fell in such staggering rates.

From where he stood, Arthur could just barely see his men bunkered far down the street, firing upon the straggles of a lost fight. The night blazed orange and gold, blistering cold and hot in the extremities of the wind and fire.

Empty casings rolled around Arthur's feet, tapping into his foot and then rolling away again. Singing. The crackle of the fires near and far were like the roars of a crowd, praising him. The thrum of the blood pulsing in his head consumed him; his body rocked with each pulse, as if he were being beaten by the waves of the ocean. His vision tunneled with each withdrawal of pressure. More blood rolled down the side of his face, pooling on the arch of his chin. It fell into his line of sight steadily as he turned his face downward to look upon his dying victim.

He watched carefully as the light faded from the pair of mad, golden eyes staring back at him. Blood and bullets deformed what had been a face, and the massive form of a Brute slowly writhed about until it was a limp mass on the cold stone.

Adrenaline and death receded from his veins, leaving him drained and aching, but still he stood over his kill. He couldn't look away, not until he was sure the beast was good and dead. Crips were liars and infamously devious, this Arthur knew to be true for them all; the Brute could be feigning death just for a chance to strike. It could use some of the endless energy reserves it had to gather its strength and rise up again. It could even explode, the Crips were much like nuclear reactors, too much Booster and they could simply pop.

There were a number of troubling case-scenarios that could happen before it died. So Arthur waited, not listening to the distance screams of his men or the fading shots of enemies as they fled. Not reacting to the explosions still taking place around him or and sizzle of the fires too near to his bare skin. Not flinching at the stray bullets that whizzed past him or the whip of the sharp wind that collided with his broad figure.

Instead, he stood tall and proud. Stood like a Pendragon.

His chest rose and fell rapidly; his right hand gripped his handgun mercilessly, ready to unload another round in the dying body before him. His lungs heaved air in and out painfully, and his throat was struggling to acquire the large amount of air his body demanded it be given. In fact, his throat felt crushed, incapable of functioning properly.

He didn't care though, he had to watch. Like a Penndragon.

This was a victory. The dying of a Crip Brute was a good thing. The light fading away and the breath leaving it was something to be proud of. The slump of lifelessness it took to forming on the cobblestone was a cause for celebration.

Arthur knew this. He'd been taught to revel in this moment. Usually he did.

And yet, this time… Arthur felt uncomfortable. Something in the pit of his stomach, something small and almost not worth any thought, twisted in the pit of his gut. It bothered him, but that which bothered him was unknown to him. It wasn't something Arthur could easily place his finger on or examine; it was just beyond his recognition. Something _was_ uncomfortable though, and as he gazed back at the dead eyes permanently locked on his, the small something only intensified.

Then another something caught Arthur's attention. Faint, in the back of his mind, something scratched at his great victory. The leg. Arthur's gaze flickered away from the Brute's face for just a brief moment to land upon the severed limb, still gushing and rolling with the evening breeze. That didn't bother him; gore was nothing new to the seasoned Kortier child.

What bothered him was the fact that it was severed.

The appendage was oddly cut – clean through – and the manner in which it had been removed was equally odd. The timing had been too perfect, almost like something had willed that Arthur be victorious.

The situation was grim, all hope seemed lost. Death was imminent. Then, just when he needed an opening, his opponent's leg removes itself? Doubtful. Something else was at work. Something had saved him.

That only unsettled Arthur more, and with a curt shake of his head, he looked back to his victim bleeding out on the pavement.

When finally he deemed the creature dead and the threat along with him, he relaxed. That relaxation triggered something violent though. Without warning, his stomach flipped and he lurched forward, hurling the contents of his empty stomach onto the pavement beside him.

He grimaced, but composed himself. Before he was fully recovered from the unexpected reaction, he retched again, this time spilling blood and acid alike.

It was then Arthur noticed how battered he truly was though, and he gasped when all at once his body failed him. Suddenly his knees gave out and he hit the ground, just barely managing to catch himself before he fell on his face.

Not only his knees, but his organs malfunctioned as well. His lungs seemed to shrink with pain and Arthur fought to barely swallow mouthfuls of air at a time. His vision blurred and darkened around the corners, but he fought to maintain himself.

Then his elbows gave out and he hit the ground, his skull bashing into the hard stone. He hissed at the pain that warmed over his face and he closed his eyes to the tingling sensation.

"Arthur! Arthur?" Ringing loudly in his ears was the sound of his men calling to him, and he fought the numbness of his body to respond.

It was a losing battle though, because the full effects of his beating were slowly setting in.

All he could do was shake violently on the ground and wait for his subordinates. He cracked open an eye and tried to ward off the dizziness weighing heavily on him. He could almost see his men as they moved toward him from further down the street, jogging over cautiously.

"Arthur?" They called to him.

He worked up all the strength he had left to answer back to them, managing a small strangled sound but the hellfire in his throat cut him short. With a hiss he cringed against the pain, trying his best to—

He gasped and both his eyes flew open! Adrenaline shot back through him suddenly and all his senses sharpened. Though tunneled and hazy around the edges, Arthur's vision returned to him for a moment. In that moment, he stiffened and noticed something far off in the distance.

Above the heads of his men, on a random rooftop of the dark and silence, there was something!

It was only a flash of movement, too quickly gone to be properly assessed. Something unknown that stirred in the otherwise empty night, though, and that alone was a threat. From what Arthur saw in the brief instant he did, he realized it was tall and scrawny like a stick figure, and silhouetted against the night by the moon just above the rooftops.

Not much to go on. However, in the city of Albion, movement in the middle of the night it was a general rule to stay indoors. Stay hidden. Stay away from the Crip and Kort activity. There was no movement in the night, never; any that there might have been was never anything to be taken lightly.

His instincts told him to first panic, but where there were no immediate reactions in the world around him he settled. There were no explosions or added panic, no Crip reinforcements or anything equally dangerous like he could expect there to be in the case of a legitimate threat. So he rationalized as best he could.

It could have been a great many things: a person, an enemy, a cloth blowing in the midnight breeze, maybe even just an animal on the prowl. But as his adrenaline and consciousness left him, Arthur knew it to be a person. He hadn't gotten a good look at it, and there was nothing to suggest what exactly it was, but his mind was made up.

Without warning though, his gaze was torn away as he threw up more blood and stomach fluid.

"Arthur!" Leon was suddenly on him, grabbing at his arms and hauling him to his feet. Arthur's body _howled_ at the physical abuse and he unintentionally let loose a cry of agony; his spine went ridged and his eyes screwed shut! Leon gasped and released him and Arthur fell back to the ground, this time not lucky enough to catch himself.

He tensed briefly as the pain spiked, but then went limp again with the recession.

"Good gods," Leon whispered, looking down at the ruined form of his commander. Instantly there was plenty wrong, clearly visible to the naked eye. The sharp concave curvature of Arthur's spine was sickening and his heavy breathing uncharacteristic. Leon panicked.

"Percival, get over here!"

The sound of Leon's shout tore through Arthur's skull and he tried his best to curse him. His words failed him though, and his mouth occupied itself with coughing up blood as the extent of his condition continued to make itself known.

Heavy footsteps approached him and Arthur knew the man Leon began to speak with was Perc. "He needs medical attention," Leon informed his comrade, once again talking too loudly for Arthur, in turn he grimaced, "You're to get him to Gaius and stay with him until I send more security. Do you underst—"

Leon was interrupted by the sound of Arthur chocking out a mound of blood.

"Hurry. And take the truck," he added.

"Got it," Percival replied.

"Arthur," Leon addressed his superior again, kneeling down and speaking quitter as if his Captain could suddenly break, "Percival's here, he'll get you help. Don't you worry about us, I'll handle the clean up and give your report."

Arthur tried to protest, but Leon was up and gone before he could manage it. Next thing he knew, the Kortier Captain was being lifted off the ground by two massive hands gripping none too gently on his battered body. He was then tossed over the shoulder of his large subordinate. He yelped as pain shot through him and his body tensed momentarily; blood dribbled down his chin. Percival just mumbled a, "Sorry Captain," before he rushed off with his commander.

* * *

"They're gone." Morgana stated, "We've got fifteen minutes."

"Good," Merlin shuddered, partly for Arthur's sake and partly for the chill that wafted over him, "Let's get this over with."

"Let's."

Merlin and Morgana rose to their feet slowly, stepping off the rooftop simultaneously, and each landing silently and gracefully on the ground four stories below. Without missing a beat, they started into a quick stride and pulled the hoods of their coats over their dark heads. Ducking away from the lights, they moved down the street wordlessly.

The Factory District was abandoned, like the rest of the city, and the doors were all locked tight, giving neither of them reason to be on edge, yet they both were. The moonlight was barely able to penetrate the smog the buildings released into the sky, and the howls of hunting wolf packs was drown out by the furnaces blazing in the dark. Their heavy boots echoed throughout the deserted district, the slow and steady pace in perfect time with their heartbeats.

A tension built up between them as they struggled to put into words what neither of them wanted to say.

The tension between them was left unaddressed for a long while, causing the nearby lights to flicker and dim in response. The puddles from the rain the night before all dried up and receded at the approach of the powerful Crip rebels. Even the winds that blew in from high in the freezing sky steered around them, whistling down the streets on either side of them both.

They made their way south through the Factor District, rushing through the winding streets towards Undercity, their destination. They were all but invisible in the shadows that cloaked them, only present in the effects they had on the environment and the sound of their hurried footsteps.

Finally, a light beside Merlin popped causing the glass shattered and scattered across the pavement. The piercing sound stabbed through both the peaceful night and the two Crips composure. Morgana sighed, but didn't stop. Neither did her counterpart.

"I know," Merlin spoke first, breaking the uncomfortable tension.

"It's just so…"

"I know," he agreed quietly.

"…What do we tell Pamela?" she questioned.

Merlin didn't respond for a long time and the two of them walked down the street quietly. Lights continued to pop, but after only a few more the tension lessened and the lights flickered instead. At last, Merlin whispered, "The truth. She deserves that much."

Morgana scoffed. "No one deserves _that_ truth, Merlin." The truth that haunted ever Crip in Albion; madness. Too much hatred and too much Booster combined easily led to a chemical and irreversible reaction. One which Marcus reminded his Captain and Lieutenant was all too possible in stressful situations.

"Marcus was a good man," Morgana continued, "And Pamela's a good woman. She'll be devastated."

"We don't have a choice."

"Sure we do," she protested.

"I'm just as against tell her as you are," the young commander assured her, "But I'm the one reasonable for—"

Morgana twirled in front of Merlin and threw her hand into his chest, stopping him in the middle of the last street between them and the Undercity. "No, _I_ let him on the field. I'm the one responsible."`

"_I_ assigned him to this mission."

"And _I_ signed off on it," Morgana insisted, her voice rising in octave and the proximity between the two of them closing slightly, "There's nothing either of us did wrong." Merlin wanted to speak against that but she threw up her hand. "Stop, we don't have time for this, we've only got a few minutes left." She reminded him.

With that, they both fell silent and continued walking. The tension began to dissipate. The lights still continued to flicker and the puddles evaporated into steam, but the tension eventually subsided. It wasn't long before they finally exited the Factor District and entered the Undercity. With a quick glance from around the corners of the end of the alley that opened into the battle ruined street, they stepped into the open.

The full force of their battle suddenly struck them both. The horror of the Kortier's actions were sprawled on nearly, every square inch of the abandoned street.

Bodies laid at random around the field, some broken, some still leaking blood others not. Fires burned steadily, popping hungrily at the stray bottle of Booster, and the rubble of multiple buildings filled the street. The car frame which had held the Crip shipment of Liquid Gold was stripped of its contents and left bare in the night. Now only a twisted heap of battered metal. The guns of both forces were strewn carelessly about, left bloody and still steaming with action, the casing of countless bullets gleaming in the night like sprinkled glitter.

There was no movement though, in fact, other than the fires there was no movement at all. As Merlin and Morgana came to a stop in the middle of the street, they looked to each other. In her golden eyes shown her firm resolve, and in his, his grief expertly masked by superiority.

Merlin smiled, despite this grief, to his lieutenant and nodded.

She gave a small smile back and put a hand to her throat, holding his gaze for a long, tantalizing moment before she spoke softly into her communicator, "Everybody up, five minutes."

At her command, the still and quite street instantly came to life.

Like having stepped into an ant hill, life flourished from everywhere. Crips came pouring out from the shadows, every shadow from nearly every surface and dark space. Bodies rose from their spots on the cobblestone, shaking off their bullets casually. Scouts, clothed in black, leapt from their hiding places on the rooftops and from within the buildings, outnumbering the original estimated Crip numbers by nearly twice as much.

Crips poured out holes and windows, sewer lines and empty props around the street such as cans and cardboard boxes. From underneath the rubble, glowing men and women stepped out, shaking off their bullets as well. Some retrieved their weapons, others didn't have any to being with, and some greeted each other when they met.

Merlin stood proudly before it all, beaming as his forces shuffled to stand in front of him, falling into a loose formation of battered soldiers. A force, large enough to have contained a small legion of Kortiers filed in front of the two Crip leaders, falling silent professionally.

When finally the street was filled and there seemed to be no more in hiding, Merlin took a small step forward. All eyes that weren't already, glued to him. He took a deep breath to steady himself over this, before he addressed them briefly, but proudly.

"Perfect. You've were all _perfect_," he smiled, speaking to them as if friends not subordinates, for that is what they were to him. His praise instantly affected his men, causing most to straighten and others to grin; words as kind as those from their commanding officer were always welcomed, naturally. "You should be proud," he assured them, "But we've only moments before they return. Follow Felix," said Crip soldier stepped forward at the mention of his name, "And get back to camp."

Morgana took a step forward to come beside Merlin, catching his gaze. He questioned her wordlessly. She glanced to the bloody and deformed body of Marcus not too far down the street, one of the Crips not to have risen again once the order was given.

"…Also," Merlin added, pausing for a long moment as the cheerfulness drained from his voice, "As for our fallen, they will be honored. They fought valiantly and their sacrifice has given life to many others."

With that, Morgana stepped back, looking to her men stoically. Satisfied.

Then Felix, nodding to the Commander and Lieutenant, cried, "You heard the man, on me. Let's go!" Just like that, the mass of untrained civilians, the monsters known as Crips but family to Merlin, moved as one and left the Undercity the same way Merlin and Morgana had come.

One by one, the street was one person less, as they passed their commanding officers with smiles and mumbled hellos. It only took a few minutes, but Merlin and his lieutenant waited patiently, greeting their friends and they went and returning handshakes. The overall sense of pride that wafted in the air was shared by all, most of all Merlin.

When all had left and the two were alone again, they silently got to work. The Korts were on their way, and all had to be just right. Tracks had to be covered.

The two teenagers held their hands out towards the individual fires and with a flick of their dainty wrists, blew them out. They approached the bodies of their comrades that had not risen to join the living as said their own blessings. Then brought them all together and placed them side by side, peaceful looking, in the center of the street, knowing the Korts were too close for them to do anything else.

They took any weapon they could find, and searched the rubble for signs of stray Booster. There wasn't but a few extra vials left, easily slipped into the deep pockets of the master criminals. The guns they found were broken in half, snapped without effort by the gold energy that surged just beneath their skin. There could be no traces left and nothing a stray merchant could pick up off the street.

This was basic clean up duty, and it had to be done.

"Shut _up_, Gwain."

Merlin gasped and looked to Morgana, who was in the middle of blessing a body, when she also gasped and looked up. When their eyes met, they looked to an alley opposite them where they could see the faint hint of light dancing on the brick walls and shadows cast themselves into the street. Wordlessly, the Crip rebels sprinted for the alley from which they came and threw their hoods over their dark-haired heads, ducking into the shadows and scurrying off.

They could hear the laugher of the Kortiers as they reentered the battle field, but did not look back at them. Merlin and Morgan knew they'd not been seen, because there was no commotion and no one was following them. They didn't stop running though, they simply pumped their arms and moved away from the battle site as quickly as they could, stopping only when both could go no more. They took a rest at a random building, taking a moment to analyze their surrounds and notice they were in the heart of the Factor District.

Far from danger.

They supported themselves against the brick structure as they caught their breath, panting heavily and watching the way they'd come despite their confidence. Merlin recovered first, straightening himself as he waited for Morgana to do the same.

"Quite the trap, do you think?" he half laughed, still shaky with adrenaline.

"Oh shut up, it was all luck," Morgana wheezed, smiling regardless. Merlin had looked over to see her smile and returned it tenfold. "Besides, I helped," she added.

"Oh exponentially," Merlin agreed animatedly.

Suddenly though, Morgana's smile fell and her face went serious. "Wait," she silenced her superior with a raised hand, putting the other to her ear; her brows furrowed. Merlin did as he was told and stepped in close, straining to hear the conversation over her communicator.

"Its camp." Morgana informed him. He tensed instantaneously.

Merlin watched Morgana's golden eyes; she had always been an open book to him. He didn't see any fear there – not yet – so he calmed himself slightly. As she took in the information, he glanced from her to the opening of the street, worriedly. Morgana met his eye, her smile returned to them long before her lips.

This only worried Merlin more. "What is it?" he hissed.

"Felix just got word from camp."

"So soon?"

"Sh," she hissed. Her eyes flickered back and forth from Merlin's face to the side of her own as she worked to comprehend the information. "The mission was a success, Mordred and his men reported in nearly thirty minutes ago."

Instantly, Merlin was hyped, "The package?" he inquired.

"Intercepted," she confirmed with a curt nod.

"And who transported it in Arthur's stead?" he asked.

Morgana relayed the question and waited for a respond, "Agravaine. No causalities, seems things went even better than planned."

Merlin was perplexed, not sure if he should be excited or concerned. He chose the latter, "How so?"

Morgana was still deeply focused, but replied, "Agravaine was called in to assist Arthur in Undercity. He left the package at a safe house. Mordred's forces infiltrated and retrieved the package. Agravaine should be here any minute."

Merlin nodded: his bait trapped two dragons.

"The package is secure," she added, "They're hauling it in now."

As she said this, Merlin could hear the faint rumble of a truck, far off in the distance he knew to be in the Undercity. He then let out a pent up breath of air in a relieved laugh, sharing in Morgana's smile. "That's great," was all he could manage to say in the face of so much good news. And yet, the communications didn't end there, Morgana still focused on Felix, holding up a hand to Merlin as she listened.

Merlin did not interrupt.

Then her eyes widened, and she demanded, "How is that _possible_?" There was a muffled confirmation in her ear and she panicked, "Are you safe? Are the contents faulty?" After a moment, she then addressed her commander, "Merlin, our source was wrong. The package, it's enormous. A full semi!"

"_What_?"

"Felix slow down," Morgana tried, "How much is there, _exactly_?"

When still Morgana struggled to calm him, Merlin held out his hand to her, sporting a stony expression of absolute authority. She nodded and removed her headset promptly, taking the wires from her neck and ear to place them quickly in Merlin's opened palm. He then put the mic to his mouth and pressed the speaker to his ear, speaking evenly into the small device, "Felix."

He could hear the soldier's surprise from over the line. "Emrys?! Sir!" Felix's deep, masculine voice nearly broke in his shock, "Yes Sir?"

"You told Lieutenant Morgana the package was transported in a semi?"

"Not just transported in, Sir," Felix reported, "There's Liquid Gold from wall to wall, intel didn't suggest anything even remotely this big. We're having to park it just outside camp and haul it in manually."

Merlin glared at the ground; news such as this was troubling. Faulty information was nothing new, angered Kortiers was a trivial detail, but an entire truck of Liquid Gold missing from Kortier custody was trouble. Trouble he couldn't afford to have.

No one could. It was only the Crips expert ability to avoid trouble that allowed them such successful survival in the corrupt land of Albion. That success was due solely to Merlin's efforts and skill as a leader. Like any good any leader, he wouldn't compromise their survival. Not even for something as priceless and sought after as Liquid Gold.

Morgana understood this, it showed in the crease between her eyebrows.

"Was there much resistance?" Merlin questioned almost anxiously.

"No Sir. The tuck was left vulnerable. Commander Mordred said he just took advantage of the opportunity."

"And there's no one following the package?"

"No Sir."

"You're sure?"

"Positive, we've done a sweep and everything. It's clean, and the goods are legit."

Merlin looked to Morgana who stood silently in front of him, tense and on edge. He put a hand over the mic and said to her, "He's fine." Morgana knew he meant Mordred, and as much as she cared about the overall safety of her fellow Crips, the news of that one in particular caused her to sigh in relief.

Her relief added to Merlin's somewhat.

He then addressed Felix again, "I want the truck stripped and put back out on the streets. Do not hold the package in the truck for more than an hour, and if in an hour it's not empty just dump the rest."

"Yes Sir." As Merlin went to end communications and return the headset to Morgana, Felix cried out, "Oh, and Sir!"

"Hm?"

"Arthur is being taken to Gaius." He reported, "Seems his injuries were extensive."

Those simply words caused the world to freeze over.

Both young Crips, alone and still in the Factor District, went rigid and forgot to breathe. They stared blankly at the communicator in Merlin's hands as they let the information sink in. Dogs howled and furnaces burned, birds cawed and winds whipped. Despite the continuation of life, they were frozen.

"Just thought you should know," Felix added.

Morgana was the first to recover, looking at Merlin expectantly. He looked away and focused his attention elsewhere.

"Sir?"

Morgana shoved Merlin roughly, knocking away the invisible ice that had encased him. "Yes… good work, Felix. Now get to it, one hour." Merlin wrenched the headset from his ear and slapped it into Morgana's hand none too gently. She didn't care though, instead she watched her commander until she caught him glance at her.

She grabbed a hold of his gaze and locked it with hers. When he was firmly tethered to her, she said, "You should go to him, Merlin."

"Morgana," he warned, sighing heavily, for he knew full well where she was headed.

Still she continued, strapping her headset back into place and staring down the street with him again. "You can get in close and finish him," she explained, almost giddy sounding, "It's the perfect opportunity!"

"Arthur is not—"

"Yes, I know the rules. We don't kill him, but Merlin, you saw him. He's not some innocent being mislead by his father, he's a trained killer and he's a pretty dang good one, too."

Merlin just shook his head and turned to continue down the street. Morgana rushed to come up alongside him, persisting, "He's weak and vulnerable. You don't even have to kill him," finally she grabbed him by the arm and he spun around to face her. Gold clashed with icy blue and they stood like that for a long moment…

"…I don't know where this fire comes from, Merlin," Morgana admitted lowly.

Neither did he, but he didn't answer. Instead, he let his unexplainable yet fierce resolve shine through, locking his jaw.

"You _should_ go to him, Merlin. This is your chance to achieve that peace you always prattle on about."

"I will not achieve it through murder."

Morgana clarified her statement, "You won't be killing him, besides Marcus has all but accomplished that. All you have to do is _let_ him die."

They held themselves there for a long, long while, letting the night wait for them in the darkness.

"You… need to go," Merlin said at last, though only in a whisper, "Mordred will be expecting you."

"Merlin," Morgana tried again, but her stopped her gently.

"Please, Morgana. Don't ask me to take an innocent life."

This only upset her more though and she couldn't help but snap, "He's not innocent! He's a killer, a murderer, a murderer of our people, Merlin. He's not ignorant, he's corrupt. He's not guided by his father he _is_ his father. He can't change and he can't be anything else."

Merlin just sighed as she fumed, and took her hands in his. Morgana scoffed at the gesture and her gaze turned into a glare, one that Merlin took with a pained smile.

"What?" She demanded.

"I've taken a chance before, Morgana," he reminded her in a soft voice, "On a little girl." Morgana's eye widened and she tried to wrench her hands free, but Merlin wouldn't let her. He went on, still, trying his best to keep his voice low against her struggle, "You know some said she couldn't be changed either…"

With a spark of recognition, she barked out, "Enough," her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Some people just need a chance," Merlin smiled, laughing at an old memory that flickered across his mind. "So how about you go home, enjoy your boyfriend, and let me worry about Arthur."

Morgana seethed, but Merlin pulled her close and pecked a kiss on her forehead.

* * *

Chapter two, done and done.

This one is a tad shorter than the first, and I could have drug it on and on, but I'm sure all you readers are ready for Merlin and Arthur to actually meet. I assure you, that's what it's all about from here on out.

Chapter three is on its way, even now. It won't take too long, either. My only problem is making the dialogue non-cheesy, so give me a little time.

Remember, reviews are love!

-Nonsensicality


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